


Invincible Summer

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: "Victor is standing beside the bed, naked. Yuuri's not really surprised by that. Victor, he's learned, is naked as much as decently possible and then some, even in the depths of the Russian winter. What surprises Yuuri is Victor's hair.It cascades past his shoulders, a silvery waterfall that looks almost, but not exactly, like the style he had when he was younger. The one that featured in so many of Yuuri's favourite posters. Victor grins and twirls, the hair fluttering in the breeze. 'It's much heavier than I remembered. And I know the colour's not quite right, but for my Yuuri, I do what I can.'"





	

**Author's Note:**

> "In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer." Albert Camus

Yuuri didn't know what winter really was until he came to St. Petersburg. 

He thought he did. He spent a large part of his formative years shovelling snow in Hasetsu, and Detroit is hardly a tropical paradise. This is different. A lot of the time, it's too cold even to snow. Instead, the city is gripped tightly in the unforgiving, grey grasp of a season that goes on and on without end, that makes Yuuri's skin dry as old leaves and forces him to dress in three layers just to take Makkachin out for a pee. 

The one positive side to it is that Yuuri has Victor to warm him up. Victor is exceptionally good at that, in ways that make Yuuri blush even now, if he thinks about them outside the moment.

One night, as sweat from their just-finished exertions cools on his heated body, Yuuri lies on Victor's sinfully wide bed and stares vacantly at a spiderweb of frost etched onto the windowpane.

“You seem thoughtful, my love.” Victor murmurs. Leaning over Yuuri's shoulder, he presses a kiss to Yuuri's neck, then another to his ear as his long fingers play delicately over Yuuri's stomach. 

“Do I?” 

“Mm. Dare I ask what is going through that beautiful head of yours?” 

“Nothing, really.” It's true. Immediately after sex is not the time at which Yuuri is at his most intellectual. He turns in Victor's arms, until they lie face to face. He's too close for Yuuri to be able to see much, and he hasn't got his glasses anyway. Still, Yuuri leans toward the attractive blur in front of him. Victor catches his lips and they kiss until they're both breathless again. That's the thing about being with Victor, Yuuri finds. Even after they've just had sex, they can't stop kissing. 

“Then let me tell you what I am thinking,” Victor says, when they finally break apart. “I'm thinking that I am the luckiest man in the world. You are my love, my life. Waking up with you is the best part of my morning, and going to bed with you gives me nothing but sweet dreams.” He raises one of Yuuri's hands and presses his lips first to the knuckles, then to the palm and the wrist. 

Yuuri's stomach flips. They've been together for months now, but hearing words like that from Victor Nikiforov's mouth still sends a delicious thrill through his body. There's nothing like it. Even the taste of katsudon pales in comparison, and Yuuri never thought he'd feel that way about anything. He wishes he could speak like that in return, that he could spin beautiful sentences to make Victor shiver, but awkwardness still prevails. Yuuri has plenty of romantic thoughts, but he can't put any of them into words without feeling like an idiot. 

Instead, Yuuri kisses Victor again, sliding his lips up Victor's cheek—as soft now, at nine o'clock at night, as it was this morning, and if he hadn't actually seen him doing it, Yuuri wouldn't be convinced Victor ever shaved at all—and stroking a hand through Victor's silky hair. A thought strikes Yuuri. He takes a deep breath and dives in. “I wish we could have met years ago.” Victor laughs. It's not the reaction Yuuri was going for, but he's on this road now. Blushing hotly, he carries on. “We wasted so much time apart.” He mumbles the last bit. Granted, it doesn't sound as romantic out loud as it did in his head, but he finds himself frowning in embarrassed irritation when Victor laughs again. Yuuri pulls away, but Victor catches him and brings him back. 

“Yuuri.” He presses his cheek into Yuuri's hair. “Don't be upset. I only find it funny because I was such a selfish beast when I was young. I would never have appreciated a precious gift like you. You would have left me at once, and I would have been doomed to spend my life as a friendless, fat, ugly drunkard.” 

The idea of Victor as any of those things is ridiculous. _Except maybe the drunkard_ , Yuuri thinks, then immediately feels guilty. Victor, after all, isn't the one who drank away all memories of their first meeting. 

“But perhaps,” Victor goes on, suddenly thoughtful, “perhaps there is a way in which we can recapture those lost years. Let me think on it.” 

Yuuri didn't mean anything by it, really. It was just an idle comment. but Yuuri doesn't want to talk anymore. “All right,” he says, and cuddles in close, drawing the heavy blankets up to keep out the cold. 

***

There are twenty-six steps between the bus stop and the front door of Victor's—of _their_ —apartment building. Tonight, with a frigid wind whipping in from what has to be Siberia, Yuuri feels every one of them. 

Victor has a car. A week after they arrived in St. Petersburg, he suddenly remembered he'd left it in long term parking at the airport when he first went to Hasetsu. It's bright red, and as sporty as Yuuri would have expected from Victor. A Mercedes or a Jaguar or something, Yuuri doesn't know what. Phichit swooned when Yuuri included it in a photo, but, while Victor is keen for Yuuri to drive it, Yuuri has no interest in learning how. Driving in Russia, or at least driving with Victor, seems to be a stressful, never-ending series of last-minute lane changes, screeching brakes and honking horns, usually on the part of the other drivers. 

Not driving does, however, mean Yuuri is forced to take the bus to and from the rink, unless he and Victor can travel together. Normally, they do, but today, Victor skated over to Yuuri after lunch and said, “I've got go pick up something, darling. See you at home.” He left without any further comment. 

The lights are on when Yuuri arrives, so whatever Victor was up to, he must already be finished. Makkachin trots happily to the door to greet him, licking Yuuri's hands. Yuuri bends down to scratch the dog's ears, then stands to hang his coat in the closet. “Victor?” Yuuri calls. “Are you home?” 

“I'm in here, my Yuuri.” Victor's voice comes from the bedroom. 

A wave of sudden anxiety hits Yuuri, hard. Victor's been very good about taking things slowly, and about letting Yuuri decide how quickly they graduate from one bedroom activity to another. Yuuri's very happy with where things are now, at a level most people would probably call “tame” but which is wilder than Yuuri ever thought he'd get. The fact remains that Victor is a lot more experienced than Yuuri. At some point, he's going to want to...elevate the game, so to speak, Yuuri's sure of it. What if today's the day? Yuuri's stomach shifts at the thought of Victor waiting for him with handcuffs or a dildo or a harness or some other scary sex-related item that makes Yuuri want to bury his already-flaming face in a pillow and never, ever look up again.

 _So?_ Yuuri counters himself. _I'll just tell him no._ Victor listens to “no”, in bed if nowhere else. _Or maybe_ , Yuuri thinks, swallowing a large lump that's appeared in his throat, _maybe I'll even tell him yes._

Makkachin disappears toward the kitchen, and, taking his courage in both hands, Yuuri heads in Victor's direction. He breathes deeply, in and out, as if he's about to begin a program. Then, before he can change his mind, he steps into the bedroom. 

Victor is standing beside the bed, naked. Yuuri's not really surprised by that. Victor, he's learned, is naked as much as decently possible and then some, even in the depths of the Russian winter. What surprises Yuuri is Victor's hair. 

It cascades past his shoulders, a silvery waterfall that looks almost, but not exactly, like the style he had when he was younger. The one that featured in so many of Yuuri's favourite posters. Victor grins and twirls, the hair fluttering in the breeze. “It's much heavier than I remembered. And I know the colour's not quite right, but for my Yuuri, I do what I can.” 

“For me?”

Victor nods eagerly, crossing the space between them. “You wondered what it would have been like if you'd known me when I was younger. Here I am.” He holds up a handful of hair. “You can touch it, if you would like.” 

Yuuri would like that very much. He reaches out. It feels like real hair. It's coarser than Victor's own, but it doesn't have the stiffness of a synthetic wig. “Where did you get it?” 

“I borrowed it. Lilia has a costumer friend who lets me play with her toys from time to time. We absolutely can't get semen in it, that is a specific condition.” Yuuri chokes. “Of course,” Victor continues, thoughtfully, “that was always a condition with my real hair, too. It was such a terrible pain to get it out.” 

Yuuri doesn't know what to say. Victor, as always, takes pity on him. He steps back, away from Yuuri, and sweeps the hair up into a ponytail. “I always wore it like this when I was competing. Do you remember?” Yuuri nods. Just seeing it sends him back in time, and suddenly Yuuri's sitting with Yuuko in the break room at the Ice Castle, watching Victor win gold at the Olympics in Turin and Vancouver, and at the World Championships in Calgary and Tokyo and Los Angeles and Moscow. “When I was practicing, though, and Yakov was too busy to bitch about it, I used to let it down.” Victor drops the hair. “It would fly around me.” He bends back, facing the ceiling as if in a layback spin, and shuts his eyes. “The knots were terrible afterward, but it felt like magic.” 

_You're magic._ The words catch in Yuuri's throat. They're silly, but they're true. Long hair, short hair, eighteen years old or twenty-eight, Victor is magical. “You look beautiful,” Yuuri says, instead. 

Victor stands up and pushes the hair to one side. “That's very kind of you, Katsuki-san.” He smiles, and it's dazzling, like looking at the sun. “Are you a skating fan?” 

Yuuri blinks in confusion. Victor runs a hand down Yuuri's arm, the touch just firm enough to be felt, and lowers his eyes, only to look up shyly from between his eyelashes. _A game_ , Yuuri thinks. _He wants to play a game._

Yuuri can do this, surely. It's better than a dildo, anyway. “Um, yes.” He says. “I, ah, I'm a big fan. Of yours.” 

Victor steps nearer still. He hooks his free hand around Yuuri's shoulder, drawing him in so he can whisper, “It's flattering to have such a wealthy admirer.” 

“Wealthy. Ah. I mean, yes. Wealthy. I'm very, ah, very wealthy. A billionaire, in fact.” Yuuri's blushing, but he tries to ignore it. A billionaire figure skating fan wouldn't blush. Although, Yuuri supposes, if he had Victor looking at him like that, anything's possible. 

“Wealthy and generous,” Victor says, like he's making a suggestion. Yuuri's not sure what it might be. “Do you have a gift for me, Katsuki-san?” Victor looks pointedly toward the dresser. There's a box on top of it, medium-sized, made of dark wood with a lighter wood inlay. It's been there since Yuuri moved in, but he's never paid it any attention. 

“Yes.” Yuuri breaks reluctantly away from Victor and gets the box. He's about to pass it to Victor, but that seems a little lacking in effort. Instead, Yuuri opens the box, and is dumbfounded. 

It's full of glittering gold jewellery. Bracelets, necklaces, rings with stones. Three Eastern Orthodox crosses on chains, a man's ring inset with an emerald the size of an orange, a little pair of skates, encrusted with what must be diamonds, dangling from a golden keychain. All of it makes the ring Yuuri gave Victor in Barcelona, the one he's wearing now, look like something from Daiso. 

“I...” Yuuri begins, then stops. 

“Or perhaps,” Victor breaks in quickly, “you have something even better in mind.” He pulls the ring off his right hand and gives it to Yuuri. “Is that for me?” He blinks his wide eyes, putting his head on one side. Yuuri recognizes the look from one of his posters. His mother, who'd never had any reaction to his obsession with Victor before, furrowed her forehead a bit when Yuuri hung that one on the ceiling right above his bed, but she didn't say anything. “It's beautiful,” Victor gushes, as Yuuri slips the ring onto his finger again. Victor holds up his hand, admiring the modest ring in the light. “Katsuki-san, you spoil me.” Victor winds his long arms around Yuuri's neck. He presses a kiss to the side of Yuuri's head, then moves his lips down, tracing the shell of Yuuri's ear with his tongue. Yuuri shudders involuntarily in his arms. “Now, it's my turn to spoil you,” he whispers, his low voice full of filthy promises. Yuuri has to bite his cheek to keep himself from coming immediately. 

Victor pushes him back onto the bed. Yuuri goes easily, and in an instant, Victor is on him, unfastening Yuuri's pants with his agile fingers as his tongue sweeps past Yuuri's lips. Yuuri's not sure whether they're still playacting, but it doesn't matter. Yuuri the skater and Katsuki-san the billionaire have the same reaction. They gasp when they feel the air on their cock, and they groan when Victor's mouth closes around it. 

This is an act at which Victor excels. Yuuri's never thought too much about how he got so good. He's not jealous of Victor's previous lovers, that would be insane, but the box of jewellery, coupled with the ease with which Victor slipped into this role play scenario, raises a few questions in Yuuri's mind. He pushes the idea aside. A moment later, when Victor's lips close around the head of Yuuri's cock, Yuuri finds he can't think about anything else at all. 

It doesn't take long. As much as Victor likes to gush about Yuuri's stamina on the ice, in bed, they're still working on it. When he's close, Yuuri murmurs, “Victor,” as a warning and tries to push him away. Victor moves back just long enough to say, “We have to watch the wig, darling,” and latches on again, just as Yuuri comes. He swallows it all, the movement of his throat pulling more from Yuuri than he thought he had inside him. 

When he arrives back on Earth, the first sensation Yuuri registers is the feeling of Victor's wig sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. It's not exactly pleasant. He pulls away, and Victor sits up, his hair flowing across his pale shoulders. The expression on Victor's face is indescribably fond and it's that, more than his astonishing good looks, that makes Yuuri's heart jump. 

“Are you...” Yuuri looks down. Victor is very hard, his flushed cock bobbing between his legs. Before embarrassment can overtake him, Yuuri looks Victor in the eye and blurts, “Want to fuck me?” 

Victor's eyebrows disappear into the wig. Yuuri can't blame him. He doesn't talk like that, normally, but this isn't a normal night. “Katsuki-san,” Victor murmurs, clearly delighted. “You surprise me.” 

“Call me Yuuri,” Yuuri insists. Victor rolls onto his back, pulling Yuuri on top of him. 

It took Yuuri a lot of time to get used to this. He still doesn't love it. At first, it hurts a lot more than it feels good, but as always, Victor is patient and gentle. He looks so wonderful with his hair spread out over the pillows that Yuuri, who normally wants to hide his face at this point, can't take his eyes off him. Victor's eyes, in return, grow wide as Yuuri allows him inside. Victor's mouth falls open, panting as he moves in measured, shallow thrusts. Yuuri reaches out to stroke a hand along Victor's cheek. Without hesitating, Victor turns to kiss it, pressing his eager tongue to Yuuri's palm. 

Victor comes with Yuuri's name on his lips and Yuuri's other hand in his beautiful hair. 

One thing Yuuri still hasn't learned to enjoy about this particular act is the sensation of stickiness afterward. It's been even worse since he and Victor have decided to forgo condoms. When Yuuri returns to the bedroom, clean of all excess fluids and with a glass of water for himself and one for Victor, Victor is carefully removing the wig. There's a rather unsettling Styrofoam head on the floor beside the bed. Yuuri watches as Victor places the wig on it, glad he didn't notice it earlier. Then, Victor removes the latex wig cap and shakes out his own hair. He runs a hand through it, leaving it spiky and sticking up in all directions. “Well, my love,” Victor says, a wistful note to his voice as he gazes at the wig. “Sad to say, but I think my days of having such luxurious hair are in the past.” 

“That's fine.” It is. Yuuri takes a drink of water and sets the glass on the bedside table. “You look great just the way you are, Victor.” 

“Hm.” Victor flops down beside him, shifting so they lie nose-to-nose. “And will you say that when I am entirely bald?” 

“Yes. No doubt about it.” A few months ago, that kind of fervent declaration would have made Yuuri squirm. Now, it's just the truth. 

“I don't deserve you, my love.” Victor drops a kiss onto Yuuri's chest then rests his head there, above Yuuri's heart. Yuuri's arms go around him as, without any conscious input from his brain, Yuuri's eyes slide over to the jewellery box on the dresser. _I shouldn't ask_ , he thinks. _I don't want to know._ He doesn't necessarily want Victor to think too much about it, either. It will only remind him that the Katsuki-sans of the world can give him so much more than Yuuri can. But on the other hand, he doesn't want Victor to feel he has to hide anything. Yuuri hesitates, opening his mouth and then closing it again. Finally, before he can decide one way or the other, Victor speaks. 

“When I was younger, I had many admirers like Katsuki-san. But I've only ever had one Yuuri.” 

Yuuri smiles. It's a nice thought, but Victor doesn't have to say things like that. “You don't...” Yuuri begins, but Victor presses a finger to his lips. 

“And,” he goes on, holding up his right hand, “this is the only gift I have ever wanted to wear.” Victor kisses first his ring, then brings Yuuri's matching one to his lips and does the same. 

There's no reason that should bring tears to Yuuri's eyes, so blinks them away, frowning as if he can stem the flow by sheer force of will. It's too late. Victor sits up, a stricken look on his face. “Yuuri? What's the matter, my love?”

“Nothing. I'm fine.” He squeezes Victor's hand reassuringly. “Just being silly.” 

Victor shakes his head. “Never.” He bends to kiss Yuuri's cheeks, and then his lips. Just like that, the tears evaporate. Victor lies down again, and not for the first time, Yuuri notices how well they fit together. Like they were made for it.

After a long moment, Victor says, “I have the wig until Monday.” 

Yuuri's not quite sure how to answer that. “Um, okay.” 

“And if I take good care of it,” Victor goes on, “and work hard enough to please Lilia, her friend says she'll let me borrow other things.” 

“Like what?” 

“Oh, I don't know.” Victor's voice turns mischievous. “Would my Yuuri like to see me in a beautiful ballgown?” 

Out of nowhere, Yuuri is hit by an attack of coughing. Thoughtful as always, Victor sits up and hands him the glass of water. “What are you thinking, Yuuri?” He asks, when Yuuri has stopped choking enough to speak again. 

“I'm thinking...” Yuuri looks at the window. The spiderweb of frost is still there, glowing in the yellow light of the streetlamp below. “I'm thinking it's going to be a long winter, and we have to keep warm somehow.” 

Victor laughs, a sound of pure joy, and Yuuri feels like he's won a gold medal. _No_ , he amends, taking Victor into his arms. _Better than that._ Yuuri, somehow, has won at _life_ , in a way he didn't know was possible until he met Victor. He clings unashamedly, revelling in the way Victor clings back. _And_ , Yuuri tells himself, as he buries his nose in Victor's beautiful, short hair, _now that I have him, I'm never going to let him go._


End file.
